Emily Dickinson
I taste a liquor never brewed--
From Tankards scooped in Pearl--
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an Alcohol!
Inebriate of Air--am I--
And Debauchee of Dew--
Reeling--thro endless summer days--
From inns of Molten Blue--
When the "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove's door--
When Butterflies--renounce their drams--
I shall but drink the more!
Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats--
And Saints--to windows run--
To see the little Tippler--
Leaning against the--Sun!